The Debate :: Personal Narrative Essays

The Debate Memory can be so fickle. Like around great intensity that is slow loosingits pages, you begin with an entire novel full of details and descriptions and,if youre non c beful, you end up with nothing more than the cover and the briefsynopsis on the binding page. My novel on the subject of the end of summer schooldebate has lost its share of pages entirely the back-cover synopsis, the essence ofthe entire experience, is still with me. We are active to begin our annual debating tournament, the instructorbeamed with an enthusiasm that let each of us know how happy he was that we hadmade it this far. It will be the closure of your sixer weeks of learning andwill count as a considerable part of your grade for the dividing line. We will beginat eight tomorrow morning. find some practice, operate some sleep, see you there. I dont know what drew me to the course but I can remember my parentstelling me they felt I should go to summer school. I was opposed to the concepto f summer school right up to the moment I was issued the dictum go to school orget a job, at which point I became the worlds greatest advocate of off-seasonlearning. Besides, I was only fifteen and the workplace just wasnt immortalisey forme. So I thumbed through the course book, singing a chorus of nos until Iarrived on the Debate and Public Speaking page. There resided a mountainous pic of a boy confidently standing behind an ornate podium, clearly frozenin the middle of some captivating and influential argument. I read the passagedescribing the course and was immediately sold. How could a stuffy math classor a trivial course in art correspond to a course that teaches students the skillsand techniques of competitive debate, culminating in a week ache tournament?So I filled out the forms and mailed them and before I knew It I was sitting ina lecture hall, learning the skills and techniques of competitive debate. As I have said, I was only fifteen and perhaps this debating course wasnot yet ready for me either. I was both the youngest and least experienced ofthe lot. Little could be done to gain ground on the former adversity, but I setabout rectifying th latter by filling a notebook with all the wisdom that theteacher could impart to us during the arcminute long periods. When it was time forThe Debate Personal Narrative Essays The Debate Memory can be so fickle. Like some great book that is slowly loosingits pages, you begin with an entire novel full of details and descriptions and,if youre not careful, you end up with nothing more than the cover and the briefsynopsis on the back page. My novel on the subject of the end of summer schooldebate has lost its share of pages but the back-cover synopsis, the essence ofthe entire experience, is still with me. We are about to begin our annual debating tournament, the instructorbeamed with an enthusiasm that let each of us know how happy he was that we hadmade it this far. It will be the culmination of your six weeks of learning andwill count as a considerable part of your grade for the course. We will beginat eight tomorrow morning. Get some practice, get some sleep, see you there. I dont know what drew me to the course but I can remember my parentstelling me they felt I should go to summer school. I was opposed to the conceptof summer school right up to the moment I was issued the dictum go to school orget a job, at which point I became the worlds greatest advocate of off-seasonlearning. Besides, I was only fifteen and the workplace just wasnt ready forme. So I thumbed through the course book, singing a chorus of nos until Iarrived on the Debate and Public Speaking page. There resided a largephotograph of a boy confidently standing behind an ornate podium, clearly frozenin the middle of some captivating and influential argument. I read the passagedescribing the course and was immediately sold. How could a stuffy math classor a trivial course in art compare to a course that teaches stude nts the skillsand techniques of competitive debate, culminating in a week long tournament?So I filled out the forms and mailed them and before I knew It I was sitting ina lecture hall, learning the skills and techniques of competitive debate. As I have said, I was only fifteen and perhaps this debating course wasnot yet ready for me either. I was both the youngest and least experienced ofthe lot. Little could be done to gain ground on the former adversity, but I setabout rectifying th latter by filling a notebook with all the wisdom that theteacher could impart to us during the hour long periods. When it was time for